


and the angel swam towards the blood in the water

by sprx77



Category: Naruto, World of Lupi - Eileen Wilks
Genre: (He's intersex and nb but uses he/him, Akatsuki but Modern, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Did I say that enough because my dude is in a dress this entire fic, Hidan is intersex, Hidan is on a mission to kill a dude, Human Hidan, Intersex Hidan, It's not a big part of the fic but just saying), M/M, So fair warning, Soulmates, Spies & Secret Agents, Uzushi0 Halloween 2018, Uzushi0 Rarepair Events, Werewolf Asuma, Werewolf Mates, Werewolves, Werewolves Turn Into Actual Wolves, Which isn't the intersex part obviously but he does have the boobs to fill it out, World of Lupi AU, but only kind of, haha - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 13:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16242584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprx77/pseuds/sprx77
Summary: Not even Hiruzen can find something rude to say about a soulmate literally Chosen by the werewolf god. Asuma hit the one-in-a-million odds of securing a life partner his father can't argue with, even if he technically had nothing to do with it.Hidan is on a mission to kill someone when he catches the eyes of a tall, dark and handsome werewolf. His mission goes... astray. He has a bone to pick with this "Jashin-sama," but some part of him is already writing a thank you note.Life is very exciting.





	and the angel swam towards the blood in the water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/gifts), [Uintuva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uintuva/gifts).



> Tfw you chant to yourself: It's just a prompt, it's just a prompt, let it not be perfect and move on to the next one, your writing will approve and you'll be proud of your progress. Think of the pots metaphor. 100 practice pots are 100 times better than one anguished-over pot.
> 
> My first halloween piece, this year! For the prompt: Cursed.
> 
> Only Hidan would let me write a soulmate AU for that prompt; he's so prickly. I'm love him.

Hidan shows up to the party at nine, when it’s starting to wind down but nobody’s left yet. It would be great if he could just get close to the guy during the day, but his mark traveled with a fuckton of security, and the fallout from just killing half a dozen people on the street would be a huge pain in the ass.

So he waits til there’s more or less no one entering the party, braces his hands on a dumpster in the alley out back, and swings up on top of it. He steadies his feet, grunts, and levers himself onto a second story brick windowsill.

Kakuzu would have chosen some long, drawn-out scheme. Stalked the guy for months, plotted out his entire schedule, and then orchestrated a perfectly timed ambush right off the street, in the .1 millisecond he’s alone and ordering pizza, or some shit. Who the fuck has time for that?

He pulls off the roll of duct tape he was using like a bracelet, yanks a new piece _skrrrrttcchhh_ ing off with his teeth. He makes a box, then an X connecting the corners, and smooths the new edge of the roll down with his cheek.

He puts his fist through the window, careful to hang on tight with every other limb. It breaks with the aborted _tink-_ thunk of glass that hasn’t moved out of place. Maybe one or two shards will fall, but it’s not like Hidan gives a shit what they’ll find when he’s long gone.

After that he makes quick work of removing the obstacle. Convenient dumpster.

He swings through the empty window right into an abandoned room, furniture covered in white sheets like an old-ass short-story where widowed old women eat people, or something. Smells like mothballs.

He slips his backpack off, takes off his sweat pants regretfully. Why do people dress up for shit that doesn’t even matter? Everything goes into the bag except for the dress, which he slips on easily enough. It’s supposedly _apricot_ , though really, it’s a dusty pink that lets him blend in to most rooms and crowds.

Dark colors make him stand out, pure white makes him stand out, but this kinda color tricks the eye into seeing tans when they’re not there. The body is simple, a sheath with nothing special to it, no frilly hem or anything. The neck has, like, some straps as thick as his hand—the actual cut of the dress hugs his tits pretty well, then two strips arch over his shoulders, and one goes around his neck like a collar.

The whole thing is simple enough to get on, and isn’t trying to be fancy; he looks hella butch with it, like the kinda lesbian who wears faded-out pink just to toe the feminine line. Of course, it actually fucking fits him in a way that doesn’t look like shit, which is all he cares about.

Shit but some men look stupid in dresses.

Sasori has never been undercover in his _life_ , despite what he’ll tell you. He’s too fucking impatient. Sasori’ll drug the limousine driver, put on the outfit, stay quiet—no acting necessary—and then kill the dude in the back.

Hidan can’t act, either, but he can blend in sometimes. He doesn’t need to talk, he just needs to not catch any suspicions until he’s mugged the guy.

It’s a little like Kakuzu’s stupid way of doing it, except instead of months of prep, stalking, and staking out an area like a damn spider, Hidan just buys the PA—there’s always a PA, or a secretary, or _some_ underpaid chick running these big manchildren’s lives—lunch, and looks through her phone’s calendar when he’s putting his number in. Course, sometimes that doesn’t work, but it’s not like it’s _hard_ to show a girl a nice time and rifle through her laptop at 3am.

He finds the next public event, minds his own damn business eating pizza and dismantling shoddily run gangs in the area, takes in the sights, and three weeks later it’s show time.

Gigs are like a fucking paid vacation.

Hidan hammers a stake into the wall to the beat of the music, attaches fifty feet of rope to it in case he needs to take a fucking dive out the window, and slips his gloves into the waistband of his underwear. He ties the other end of the rope through the straps of his bag, lowers it down outside. Worst case, he comes around from the alley, slices through the line and runs with it on his way out.

It took what, five minutes? Kakuzu’s way too anal about assassinations.

He slipped on the strappy silver sandals wishing for boots. The top of his feet were bare for if he needed to play footsie in the guise of getting a read on someone, though, so he couldn’t complain.

Well, he could, but he was on a deadline and shit.

They didn’t have any guards on the stairwell, obviously—they didn’t have any proper guards at _all_ , just security for the very important persons checking for invitations out front. This was some kinda historical building, the bottom floor of which was often rented out for things while the rest stayed full of priceless antiques or civil war history or whatever. It wasn’t a museum, not quite, and the dust made him sneeze before he got down to the ground floor where well-dressed fuckers mingled and swept around to bad music.

There was some bitch he pegged as the mayor right away, from the cut of her clothes and the quality of the schmoozing going on around her—wait staff was almost hyperaware of that corner of the room—and a few men he clocked as local moneybags. A lot of money would be changing hands tonight, for the charity event and for more shady projects set in motion under the table, but Hidan’s mark was nowhere in sight.

He frowned, working the room. It took fifteen minutes to make a complete circuit without it looking purposeful, stopping to exchange two-sentence platitudes with people who didn’t recognize him but pretended they vaguely did; he wanted to snort.

The power of “I don’t know you but you’re here so you _must_ be in the same social circles as me,” lent its own brand of familiarity. Of camouflage. Stupid.

If you looked right, talked right…

A few gazes caught and stayed on him, but they were another kind of familiar. His hair was a shade too white to be platinum, skin a touch too pale. Exotic, in a non-threatening kind of way. Well, some men were intimidated by the short hair, but a few always wanted to shake up their evening in the fun way.

Fuck, if Hidan’s life was as boring as any of the people here, he’d probably claw his face off, nevermind try to bang someone new and exciting.

It’s understandable, and it helps his cover besides, so when a suave hand curls along his elbow and masterfully leads him into the current dance, he turns to the man with a smile painted on.

With any luck, it’s his mark.

The spin leads him to facing a man in a dark suit, eyes caught somewhere interesting between brown and grey.

It’s not his mark.

It’s not _anybody_ he recognizes by sight, except that the brush of the man’s palm against his bare arm screams _werewolf_ in a way that’s impossible to deny. His magic tingles with green things and blood. It’s so unexpected at this stupid charity party that Hidan would swing to a stop if hands hadn’t fallen smoothly to his hips to help lead.

The man isn’t looking at Hidan; he’s looking beyond Hidan, but his mouth moves with words.

“You’re clearly not supposed to be here,” He says, and Hidan’s eyes widen but not for being caught out as an intruder.

He’s still not looking at Hidan, and suddenly Hidan wishes he never would, that he keeps his eyes averted to whatever distracts him across the room. It’s a fear he can’t name, something wild and sudden jumping into his chest. He’s never met a werewolf, but that’s not it, can’t be. He doesn't give a damn about werewolves. They’re a secretive bunch held up in their clanhomes, with only carefully selected "out" media representatives; they have entire hierarchies with impenetrable loyalty. A non-asset to his missions, if he ever met one.

This is something else. There’s a charge building, a lead-up that, frankly, scares him, and his magic is antsy under his skin. He doesn’t know what he’s reacting to, but he needs to _leave_ , mission be damned. He’s so certain something’s about to happen that he can’t even _talk_ , choked by the swell of it.

This is stupid. It’s impossible and stupid and Hidan would like off this ride immediately. He makes to pull away, tugs at the hand clasped with the werewolf’s in classic waltz position.

It’s the beginning of the end.

The werewolf’s chin turns. Hidan’s heart thunders, suddenly so scared he can’t hear anything over it. His own reaction is out-of-character enough that he wants to scream but he can’t, can’t move or yell or go for his knives, pinned in place by a weighty feeling he can’t seem to shake, like a deer in the fucking headlights and some corner of him wants to _snarl_ at the helplessness.

The rest of him is just helpless, though, to watch with wide eyes as the man—he doesn’t even know his fucking name—jinks his gaze dead center in surprise.

He lowers his chin and meets Hidan’s eyes.

The world shakes apart.

No, actually, it’s some kind of earthquake, and then Hidan really _is_ cursing, shoving the werewolf away—it definitely only works because the man is so surprised, pushing him is like pushing a solid brick wall—and going for his knives.

They’re in California, yes, but this isn’t a natural earthquake. It’s his fucking mark, who’s staring at him, but as Hidan catches the man’s eye he turns and runs, black coattail flying behind him.

That’s the trouble with being a wetworks bogeyman in North America’s largest crime syndicate. When people sell out your boss, you’ve got to be careful they don’t see you coming when you come to kill them, because they know your name. They’ve seen you around. They know what your face means, and they _run_.

It’s why he’s in a fucking dress to begin with. You’ve got to get creative.

Hidan hurries after him, tearing through the rich elite cowering for shelter while the room shakes.

Two bodies are running right at him—no, past him, and they’re using bare hands to part the crowd, touch his arms as they go. His magic tastes theirs, the sharp bite of pine and fir, the fuzzy danger of wolves. Not his priority.

He moves past them, down a long opulent hallway framed by portraits.

His mark turns the corner right as he gets clear of the last of the people, his own hands moving and shifting the masses to get clear. Absently he processes the glimpsing flavors of mundane gifts: a touch of Finding, a small bit of telekinesis, and several minor elemental abilities. Some don't have any gifts at all.

Hidan chases the flash of tailcoat, hopping a little at the turn to get his knives out. The hallway only turns right, so that’s easy enough, but another oath slides past his lips as the next wide corridor leads only to the entrance hall and, down some steps, the front doors, which open up to the street.

The very crowded, very panicked L.A. streets.

He kicks it up a gear, sprinting full-out to try to tackle the asshole before he makes it. He’s steadily gaining on him, way more in shape than a useless desk monkey could ever hope to be—no matter his underground habits—when a rope hooks around his navel and _heaves_ his world upside-down.

It’s not like the earthquake his target with the—apparently—strong earth gift produced. Hidan went down hard, vision blurring black. The knife clenched in his hand punched the hardwood and scraped off.

But already the blackness was fading, because someone was getting closer. Screams sounded all over again, vague in the distance. The werewolf Hidan had danced with sped down the hall to him, uncannily fast. His brain screeched that speeds like that weren’t _possible_.

But then the wolf was in front of him, golden eyes staring out of a human face. His gaze is _unwavering_ on Hidan, with no apparent worry at all for the murdering double crossing scumbag who’s—

“He’s getting away!” Hidan snarls, lurching to his feet.

“Go!” Barks the man, and before Hidan can take off, it’s _rapidly_ apparent that he’s not the one being addressed. Two giant dark beasts flew past them, close enough that Hidan flinched away.

It was obvious now why the guests had started screaming, even as the tremors had died down-- that distraction was over, and likely wouldn't be repeated. Even a low-powered earthquake took a fuckton of power. The two-wolf entourage pushing past him earlier had shifted to four feet. 

Something like five hundred pounds of wolf descended on Hidan’s target, outpacing him in two bounds. The security was on the outside, thank _god_ —it was still legal to shoot to kill a lupus in wolf form, no questions asked.

Hidan replaced his knives in their sheathes to free his hands. The idiot wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, he was sobbing. The two werewolves—lupus, as they liked to be called, officially— _really_ snarled, as Hidan’s human throat couldn’t even hope to. Now that they were still, outlines no longer blurred with speed, Hidan saw that they could stand shoulder to shoulder with him easily, and he was taller than average.

He was a little winded.

Then he looked up at the apparent leader of this little wolftribe and the breath rushed out of him like a punch to the gut.

The eyes were still gold.

More than that, though, it was the second time they’d locked eyes, and this time Hidan had time to notice the way his magic—usually so passive, only ever relaying scents and tastes of _other_ people’s magic—came to immediate attention, buzzing under his skin.

There was no blackness to his vision now, he noted sourly.

“What the fuck _happened_?”

The wolf grimaced, but smoothed it away a moment later.

“I’m Asuma. Sarutobi Asuma.” His voice was gruff, scratchy, and there was a chance it always sounded like that, but he looked pained. It sounded more like he was choking on something, the words hard to get out, stilted.

Or maybe like he was barely holding on to human shape. Hidan took a step back, only to stop as a wave of dizziness threatened to down him.

“Hidan.” He bit out shortly. “Fucking _explain_!”

The wolf’s head moved over to his subordinates, but his eyes stayed rooted to Hidan. Like—

A shiver stole down his back.

Like he couldn’t look away.

“Jashin-sama has Chosen you for me.” Asuma says, sounding awed and horrified and punch-drunk.

“ _Jashin-sama_ doesn’t get to choose jack shit for me.” Hidan spat back, automatic. Then, “ _Who_?”

“Lupus have racial memories.” Asuma said, helplessly moving his hand. His voice was strained, but not worried. Sure. “We were created by a warrior-god, to fight His enemies in the time Before.”

“A creation myth.” He repeats, disbelieving. What kind of shit _was_ this? But something about that sits wrong with him, some emphasis—“Fuck me. Are you talking about an _Old One_?”

They weren’t—technically—deities, but magical scholars in every realm had come to the conclusion that, yes, they existed, and because of a very ancient pact, couldn’t _directly_ interfere with young worlds.

Only act through their agents.

Hidan felt the need to sit, which pissed him off.

“Our Lord is one of those beings, yes. He only talks to us in certain ways—we have shamans, wise women, who act as his mouthpiece. And we have the Chosen; perhaps two or three a century.”

“Chosen.” Hidan rolled that around in his mouth. “Are you saying I’ve been _cursed_ by an Old One? Like, literally cursed?”

“Well.” Asuma grimaced. “The mate bond will settle down at some point. We’ll likely never be able to travel more than five hundred miles apart, though—”

“Oh, fuck you!” Hidan hissed. “I travel! For a _living_.”

“I’m deeply sorry that my god has cursed you with a lifelong, perfect mate.” Asuma said, golden eyes glinting roughly. It was then that Hidan realized arguing with a man barely holding onto a fanged monster capable of—if his sources were accurate— easily killing monsters ten times his size, probably wasn’t the smartest shit he’d done today.

But fuck if it wasn’t hot.

He grinned, a crazy thing that begged for blood.

“Well, if I can’t figure out how to break the curse—” Thirty yards away--and wasn’t this place fucking huge for no reason?-- one of the transformed lupus let out a choking cough. Asuma looked pained. “—then I’m going to need to stick with you for a little while.”

He certainly wasn’t bringing his _magical werewolf bondmate_ back to headquarters.

Speaking of.

“Hey, were you after this guy too or was it just a coincidence?” He jerked his thumb over.

Asuma looked wary, but tentatively relieved at his compliance.

“He owed the clan money. We didn’t plan on _physically_ demanding it. Our tentative legal position necessitates a more subtle touch.”

They looked over at the five hundred pounds of wolf hovering threateningly above the still-crying man’s throat, then back to each other.

“Well, I was hired to kill him, so.”

Asuma looked him over with new eyes. The gold, which had been fading, returned with glowing vigor. It was the wolf in Asuma’s skin that looked at him now, and the hair all along Hidan’s neck rose.

It had something hot and tempted warming in his gut.

“Enough.” Asuma said, again not looking away from Hidan’s eyes. “Change.”

His voice was a clipped command, and Hidan _did_ look away. By the time his eyes focused—it was that quick—two men stood over their hostage.

One was barely out of his teens, it looked like.

“Man, what a drag.” He huffed.

“Shikamaru,” Scolded the other, older and more scarred. How did you scar a werewolf? Magic? Hidan knew for a fact that they could regrow _limbs_ ; it was part of the ‘don’t fuck with the clans, you’ll start a war’ briefing that Obito had given them.

“Right, sorry.” He bowed his head to Asuma, lowering his eyes. Another ‘avoid a war: 101’ lesson. Swallow your pride and drop your eyes if you find yourself talking to one of their princes—or, though it was hella unlikely, a king.

“So which one are you?” Asked Hidan, who would rather get a knife back out and cut off his hand than submit to the person he’s temporarily magically tied to.

Asuma sighed. The kid—Shikamaru—grimaced.

“My father is the clan head, our _Rho_.” He rubbed the back of his head, suddenly a casual man with brown-gray eyes again. All traces of danger fled from him. A normal human would _not_ have known anything was amiss at all.

Fuck, but that was sexy. Hidan had to keep his mind in the game before he used some ancient curse as an excuse to get a leg up. Prince of a lupus clan with, what, hundreds of wolves?

There were only five clans that anyone knew about in North America.

“Shikamaru, Ibiki. Grab the prisoner and show him some lupus hospitality at the nearest safe house. Genma will drive my _Chosen_ and I back to the hotel.” Both wolves snapped to attention, grabbing the mark with military precision.

Hidan narrowed his eyes at them for a moment before huffing. He had better things to worry about.

Asuma flipped out his phone and hit speed dial, eyes never once leaving Hidan’s. It was intense. Hot. He was so in over his head.

“Shikaku. There’s been—a development. Send the car, extra men. No, don’t ask stupid questions. I can’t talk. I’m bringing someone along, so make sure there’s room. Have two dinners waiting for us in my suite.”

He closed the phone.

“I don’t—can’t—think of it as a curse.” Asuma rumbled, holding out a hand. Hidan stared at it like a snake, but fuck. He was _into_ all of this. It was exciting. He could always call their magic expert later if he needed out of it. What’s one weekend of—if the human news could be believed— _fantastic_ sex, with the best possible excuse?

Oh, a god made me do it.

Stranger shit’s happened.

Plus, they had his target prisoner.

He _had_ to go with them.

Hidan put his hand in Asuma’s, unprepared for the way electricity zoomed through them. Asuma’s breath caught, and then wildness hit his eyes, though the color didn’t change. It was all man looking back, this time. A handsome man with super strength who, from the looks of it, wanted to rock Hidan’s _entire_ world.

Curses aside, Hidan was pretty sure he was gonna let him.

“Fuck.” Hidan grinned, something like anticipation for a good fight rolling through him. “It wouldn’t be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

He squeezed Asuma’s hand. The connection between them flared hard, but not painful.

It settled under his skin like magic, tasting of nothing at all.

Behind them, the civilians have started coming out from under tables, voices raised trying to determine what happened. Even the aftershocks have died down. The sound of whistles and security guards reach them from outside, and Asuma grins. It’s a reckless thing.

“That’ll be my wolves creating a distraction. Standard operating procedure.”

Hidan throws back his head and _laughs_.

“Hell of a standard operating procedure. My guys do something similar.”

“You run from the cops often?” A thick eyebrow, raised perfectly. His stubble looks perfect for nibbling on, the curve of his jaw tempting beyond all reason. Hidan wants to kiss the smirk off his face, leave bites that won’t heal for hours despite his species.

“Fuck, you don’t even _know_.” There’s a crash, more yelling, and Asuma snorts. Someone screams “Hey!” from the direction of the party.

“That’s our queue!”

Hand in hand, they run.

It’s a lot better than running an op with Kakuzu, that’s for fucking sure. They duck into the alley to grab Hidan’s bag, but one thing leads to another and his back hits the brick wall hard, probably tearing his dress.

He bares his teeth into Asuma’s mouth, who takes it like it’s sexy, like he’s the _best_.

“I’m a fucking prince. I’ll buy you a _new_ one.”

Ah, fuck it.

He’s got sweatpants in the bag.

They don’t make it to the hotel for another hour, and by the time they do, Asuma’s head of security is cussing up a storm about unnecessary risks.

Nevermind that the man’s a killing machine in charge of hundreds of other monsters.

Hidan throws the man a thoroughly well-fucked smirk, which makes him go red as all hell.

“Haven’t you heard? Your _god_ gave us all the permission we need.”

And yeah, that shuts him up.

He could get used to this kinda curse. Next to him, Asuma has the world’s straightest poker face, but Hidan can _feel_ it—amusement that’s not his own snickering down his spine, a warmth and pleasure and _happiness_ spreading through him.

Yeah. He could get used to this.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [this post](http://blackkatmagic.tumblr.com/post/178042293340/boykeats-july-in-appalachia-by-keaton-st).
> 
> I am, as always, [on tumblr.](http://definitelynotaminion.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [Oh worm here's Hidan's dress, if you're curious.](https://www.pinkbasis.com/clothing-dress-jjjj1-ld579mauve.html)


End file.
